


Bloom in Winter

by Glyphhunter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Courting Rituals, Falling In Love, Fluff, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Allura/Lance/Lotor, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glyphhunter/pseuds/Glyphhunter
Summary: It starts with a war to end all wars and a prophecy that spells it's demise. But it's not until after that it begins to thrive.“Engagement.” He looks at her, eyes wide and he nearly drops the book. Krolia’s looks becomes softer and Keith can’t stop the heat that rises in his face.“You love him, don’t you?”“I don’t- Yes? But isn’t it a bit soon for that?”Krolia sighs and crouches down in front of him. She covers his hands, holding the book with him. “I think,” she says softly, “that you have loved him for a very long time."
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 85
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

The prophecy telling the end of Zarkon’s reign is a well known one, if forbidden to be spoken of in certain circles. It came from Melenor, the late Queen of Altea, marking the end of an era and the start of a war encroaching on two decades. While her prophecies were few, they were known for their validity though at this point, people were starting to wonder if her last prophecy might be the one that never came true.

The Demon King will fall at the hands of the Champion of Light. He will be backed by the Shadows, delivered when the sun and moon are absent and he will strike, spirit strong, with the stars of Oriande as his witness.

Keith will make it come true if he has to deliver the Champion himself.

The energy is tense when he and his team ride into the Volton Coalition’s camp. The sun has set beyond the mountains. The sky is quickly darkening with its absence. Soldiers lurk between the trees and the tents, some getting ready for bed, some getting ready for patrol.

The lamps stay dim. 

The rift between the Galra and the rest of the continent is wide. As a result, he and his team are eyed with none too subtle looks of distrust but the soldiers don’t speak up. It’s a careful balance they maintain with Prince Lotor as well as the Blade of Marmora and for that, they stay quiet as Keith heads further in towards the war tent.

The encampment sits near the base of the mountain Zarkon’s castle rests upon. It’s shadow can be seen through the treetops, a nest of horrors that they are going to crush tonight. Or tomorrow morning if Zarkon believes his spies when they reach him.

Keith wouldn’t bet much on it.

He dismounts his wolf at the tents entry, leaving Kosmo to either guard, or do his own thing. He’s greeted as soon as he walks in, a low murmur of voices that breaks the flow of whatever topic beforehand. Shiro and Coran stand to the right, Allura and Lotor at the far end, and Hunk, Lance, and Pidge take up the left. Romelle, standing closest to the entry, makes a space for Keith to stand next to her.

The terrain of the map is familiar, the layout of Zarkon’s palace and the surrounding area a product of Keith’s own efforts. The simplest, most direct route is laid out; the entrance hall, up to the second floor mezzanine, and following the connecting grand corridor to the throne room near the back. Red ink marks every direction.

There’s other paths marked, above and below that are tagged with blue and black ink. The route above relies on and insider to transport them into the south tower observatory with connects to the west wing atrium then the throne room through a series of corridors from the back. Going below means going through three floors of dungeons after spelunking in the mountains cave systems and coming out in the servants quarters.

There's a wooden marker on top of the ink that signifies the third route, and Keith figures there's already a team assigned to it.

Allura looks at him, intent as she picks up the marker with the blade of marmora symbol etched into the side. “The Blade is going to move in on the tower,” she says and drops it on a streak of blue ink. “We… ” She picks up Voltron’s marker, “are going through the front door.”

Keith’s lips thin. “Zarkon’s expecting that.”

“Exactly,” Shiro says. “Any other team that attempts it won't have the manpower to push through.” But he’s tense, Keith can see. He probably doesn't like it just as much as Keith.

“This way, at least, there's a better chance of survival for all of us,” Pidge adds.

The press of his lips gets harder as Keith slowly releases his breath through his nose. He would have honestly preferred going with the blades. This feels… reckless. “I still don't like it”

“Honestly, neither do I,” Hunk says. “I'm not sure I trust a prophecy to that point.”

“My mothers prophecies have never been wrong!” Allura plants her hands on the table, frown deep, but Hunk doesn’t back down.

“It doesn't mean they can't be!” He counters. He waves a hand in Shiro’s direction. “We could be sending Shiro to his death tonight, all because of something your mother said 20 years ago!”

“You-!”

“Just!” Lance raises his arms between them, hands out as a gesture to calm down. “Don't put your trust in a prophecy then,” he says. “Keith, as much as it pains me to say it, your one of the strongest warriors here. You and Allura are the only ones I trust to get Shiro all the way to the end.”

“I love the vote of confidence,” Shiro murmurs but it doesn't get missed.

“It’s not about confidence,” Romelle says. “It's about making sure you're at your strongest when you face him.”

“You could probably storm the entire castle on your own tonight,” Lance points out. “But you’d die in the process. We want the highest chance of success here.”

“Thus keeping me protected until the end.” Shiro scans the map with a harsh breath, then looks over the group as a whole. “There's something you're not telling me.”

Pidge coughs and scuffs the dirt with her boot. When the quiet lingers, she cringes. “It's highly unlikely that all of us will be with you when you face him,” she admits.

“He's going to be ready for us, regardless,” Lotor finally cuts in. “We have precautions in place but likely, so does he. They're not going to stall him for long. My father is nothing, if not prepared.”

“Which means splitting up to neutralize him as he tries to neutralize us,” Allura continues.

“And thus the distractions stay in place while the strongest weapon spearheads the heart.” Shiro hisses between his teeth. “Damn.”

“So put Shiro and I on the side team, then. Send us to the tower. Disguise him as a Blade.” Even as he speaks, Allura is already shaking her head as Shiro crosses his arms. 

“Kolivan and Ryou already have their directives.” Allura tells him. “They leave within the varga.”

“They're the diversion. Make them believe that Shiro  _ is _ in the west wing he's coming through the front.” Allura, Lotor, most of them nod, and Keith's attention whips to Shiro when he nods too.

“Haggar doesn't know that Ryou survived,” he says at Keith's look. 

“And he agreed to this?” He’s appalled, almost disgusted that this was the decision the team came to while he was gone. But Shiro's expression darkens as his hands clench at his biceps.

“He's the one that suggested it.” It’s clear Shiro is still strongly against the plan, and it lessens the ache that burns in his chest but not by much. 

It hurts to think that Ryou would be willing to put himself back in the witch’s path after everything she did to him. That he would risk that part of himself for this but Keith hates that he understands.

Never let it be said that the Shirogane brothers weren’t stubborn.

Keith swallows, buries the despair, and hopes that he’ll make it out alive.

“Fine.” He braces his hands on the table, glaring at Voltron’s marker. “When do we leave?”

Allura's quiet when she answers. “Midnight.”

The camp is quiet when they mobilize, the image of sleep falsely induced by the shadows. It's going to crumble as soon as they breach the walls then the remainder will move in as support. they sky is dark as they travel through the trees, moonless. their only light, aside from Pidge's dimmed torches is the river of stars overhead.

The gates are open when they arrive, a symbol etched into the stone of one of the pillars. An insider. One of Marmoras own spies. Keith signals them inside and they cross the wall with their hearts in their throats.

The castle square is a ghost town, the fountains crumbling from disrepair and the shop windows boarded or smashed in. Neglected. If there are any original inhabitants left, they hope the manage to evacuate when the fighting starts. 

“Quickly,” Lotor murmurs when Lance slows at one house, trying to find any sign of life. Allura clasps his shoulder as she passes, a quiet comfort that Lance takes with a measured breath.

Shiro's leading the pack when Allura curses behind him. She's prepping her lance when he turns, already half turned back to face whatever it is she sensed. Lotor isn't too far behind her, sword burning bright in his hand. 

“Im staying too,” Lance says, also turning back but he stops with one look from Allura.

“Don't be a fool.” Lotor says, “This has the witch written all over it. We can handle it.”

“We need you with them.” Allura nods towards Shiro. “You’re the Red lion of voltron. The original Blue lion. Protect your leader.”

Shiro can see the stones moving in the square, the familiar haze of Haggar's magic coating everything. “Lance!” Keith shouts, and Lance relents with a curse

“Stay alive!” he calls back. Allura grins as she turns on her heel and Lotor smirks, but none of them miss the lack of promise. Lance curses as he catches up and Hunk matches his stride.

“They'll be fine.” He promises for them. But he’s quiet and his voice shakes. 

‘They'll be fine.’ Shiro tells himself and he's sure the rest of them think it too. His jaw clenches. They have to believe. the castle road is as rough as the town, cobblestones loose and missing. Sentries lay along the sides, broken and useless thanks to the Marmora. But they're still wary as they approach the castle proper incase there's still one able to fire.

The relief is palpable when they climb the steps into the entrance hall. The doors hang open, another marmora symbol etched into the wood. Clear, Keith tells them, but none of them relax. The town was supposed to be clear too.

They loosen the dampeners on Pidge's torches and use them to travel through the gloom inside. There are no lights, nothing to shine through the windows but Shiro can see the reflection of chandelier crystals overhead. 

Lance curses the lack of light as Pidge guides them to one of the staircases that ride the walls. Their steps echo against the stone flooring, dust heavy in the air.

“How do they even live here?” Hunks asks, likely a question for himself, but Keith answers anyway.

“They don't.”

They reach the grand corridor, ceiling arched high above them along with the appearance of carpet.

“Strange place for upkeep,” Lance notes right before violet light rises between him and Keith.

Now they can see more, lights flickering to life along the walls of the mezzanine and the floor below before extending to the chandeliers above. But Keith and Shiro are separated from the others, then the walls open and sentries, in various stages of repair, stumble out. 

“Oh, shit!” Pidge readies her qatar, the blade visibly buzzing with electricity as Lance and Hunk scramble with their own weapons. 

Keith scans the light that separates them but the barrier is seamless all the way to the ceiling. He takes his sword and swings, heedless of Shiro reaching to stop him. His blade lands and he barely has time to think a curse before the pain courses through him. It's shocking, burning, all encompassing only for a moment but that moment is all it takes to send him back and to the floor. 

He gasps at the ceiling, muscles twitching in the aftermath but he can already feel the effects fading with every breath. Shiro hovers over him long enough the see him fine before he turns back to the others.

“Hes okay,” he says as Keith climbs to his feet. The other three nod, attention divided between them and the sentries closing in on their position. “We can't break the barrier,” Shiro tells them. “Will you be okay?” 

“We'll be fine,” Lance bites out between shots. “Go get Zarkon.”

End this war.

Shiro can get behind that.

He nods and with another visual check in with Keith, they take off down the hall. The sound of the fight is quickly muffled by distance and soon it's only their breaths and their steps to accompany them.

The doors to Zarkon's throne room are thrown wide, and Shiro can see, on the far side atop a raised dias, Zarkon resting. For a split second, he looks to be sleeping, entirely encased in his armor. But he stands at their entry and his eyes flicker to life, glowing beneath his helmet. Shiro and Keith stand in the centre as he descends, steps heavy. He throws something between them, a helmet, and as it rolls closer, dread settles cold in the pit of Shiro's stomach.

It's Ryou’s.

“Petty tricks” Zarkon calls to them. 

Shiro bites back a curse. 

“Did you think he would fool me?” Zarkon sword materializes, wicked steel glinting in the violet light. “Did you think that I wouldn't  _ know _ ?” Shiro draws his sword and he hears Keith do the same as Zarkon sweeps his blade.

“You did right to come to me, my Champion. My  _ stray _ ,” Zarkon taunts, almost croons the words. “I will set you back on the right path. That path that  _ all  _ of my people will walk. The path where you belong” He levels his sword at Shiro.

Keith lunges forward, a snarl in his throat and his luxite blade extends in a flash. “We  _ do not  _ belong to you!” he shouts as Zarkon stares down his approach. He feet away when something else flashes, magic, Shiro recognises, and Keith is sent sprawling to the side. Druids phase in, dark magic crackling at their fingertips, and Shiro is too far to stop them from converging on Keith.

Then there's movement on his peripheral and Shiro ducks in just in time to dodge the swing of Zarkon's blade. He gets his sword between them for the next attack and the clash is jarring. He still feels it in his teeth when next attack lands and the next and the next. 

Shiro can barely catch his breath

And Zarkon doesn't play nice. He talks,  _ taunts, _ all the while Shiro’s trying to keep up. 

“You're that man that's supposed to kill me?” He growls. The weight of his attack has Shiro staggering. “A simple human. Alteas supposed Black Paladin of Voltron?” The pressure disappears and Shiro stumbles. Zarkon’s fist buries in his stomach and it sends him across the room.

“Don't make me laugh.”

After that, it's like a cat toying with its prey. Zarkon has the power to launch him. With ease, no less, and it takes everything to meet him where he lands. His lungs are burning, arms shaking, but Shiro can't stop.

Everything is riding on this fight.

He sees a flash out of the corner of his eye, a cry that echoes in his ears. It's Keith, shouting in pain, and the distraction costs him precious seconds he doesn thave. The blade bites across his face, the pain so blinding he thinks it got his eyes. He staggers back, a shout locked in his throat as he covers it with a hand. His back hits the wall as he blinks, willing his vision to return and a few heart pounding seconds later, it does.

But Zarkon's there, sword already in motion. Shiro shifts, side steps for the wall he's been backed against, but it's not enough. The sword lands in his right shoulder and pins him to the stone. Zarkon holds him there, laughing lowly beneath his helmet. He's trapped, like a misbehaving specimen in Haggar's labs. 

“The problem with you humans,” Zarkon says, voice low like its a secret just for them, “is that you care.”

Keith is shouting his name. His blood feels like it's freezing. Shiro snarls, swinging his sword that's somehow still in his grasp. It lands between the plates of Zarkon's armor, wedged right above his knee, and he loses it as Zarkon tears away with a roar.

“Insolence!” He cries, filled with rage as Shiro sags against the wall. Then Keith is there, appearing above Zarkon like an apparition with his luxite blade extended. He plunges it into Zarkon’s shoulder and Zarkon’s shout takes a pained edge. He reaches back and throws Keith off of him.

Shiro steps away from the wall, something simmering in his chest. 

“Voltron will fall tonight!” Zarkon roars. His back is turned, still focused on Keith. 

Shiro lunges, rips his sword from Zarkon's armor in a thin spray of blood. Zarkon staggers, his sword lifting to retaliate, and Shiro keeps moving. The ice in his blood is so cold it's burning. Shiro yells, wordless. He pours his emotion into his breath.

He. Will. Not. Stop. Here.

He blocks and parries, attacks in jabs and swings. He only needs one opening and he grabs it like the lion he represents. His sword plunges in Zarkon's chest, slipped in when the demon king overextended. There's light coming from somewhere.

Zarkon's helmet is missing, Shiro doesn't know when it happened or where it went. But there's shock in his eyes as he struggles to keep focus. “What have you  _ done? _ ” he snarls between breathless gasps, refusing to give in even as he's dying. He reaches for Shiro with shaking hands. 

The light is slowly fading. 

Shiro steps back, pulling his sword and Keith's with him. “Your reign ends here,” he says. Zarkon roars his disapproval until there's no breath left and hes limp on the floor.

Dead.

Keith's steps are loud as he approaches. They stare at each other, in various states of bloody with the demon king dead between them. An excited grin pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“We did it!” Keith gasps and Shiro laughs, almost giddy, but it saps the rest of his energy. His knees collapse from under him and he tries to catch himself but his right arm will no longer move. The floor looms, but Keith is there, strong arms braced under his chest.

He loses the next few moments, the world a blur as the ground shakes and Keith moves. His voice is constant in his ear, warm and comforting but there's desperation at the edges. He tries to help but his limbs aren't responding right. He loses his sword somewhere. Keith’s is still in his left hand. 

He feels tired. Drained. More exhausted than he's ever been in his life. 

But he's sure they make it outside. The ground stabilizes and the air cools around them. He can hear the voices of the others. and then he's on the ground and he's not sure when he got there. Allura’s hovering over him along with Keith and the lightening sky. 

Keith is looking frantic and at first, Shiro can't figure out why. It takes him a moment to remember Keith's sword, a knife now, still clutched tight in his hand. He lifts it up and somehow manages to get it in Keith's hand. Maybe he helps, he's not sure. It's hard to concentrate.

“I know it's important,” he says. Or tries to, anyway, before Keith shushes him. He's pretty sure he got it out but it's hard to tell. It's hard to tell anything right now.

He feels something but he can't tell if its warm or cold. Maybe it's both. There's something glowing but he can't open his eyes to check. It's nice, though. Comforting. He takes a breath and it feels like relief. Like a weight has been lifted from his chest. He can't feel much of anything anymore.

He thinks, maybe he's dying. 

The thought’s not as daunting, not as  _ terrifying _ as it should be. Another breath and his chest feels even lighter. He can't bring himself to regret the actions that got him to this point. 

Another breath, he thinks, but this one feels different. Something shifts. He can see but not. It doesn't feel like he's using his eyes. 

He stands in a sea of stars, like the night has expanded around him and the universe is his if only he holds out his hand. A river flows above him, glimmering and endless and its reflected below him like glass. A pressure settles on his chest but its invisible when he looks. A voice murmurs in his ears, intelligible. But there's warmth flooding through Shiro's veins, his bones, and he knows he's safe. 

He takes a step.

_ Please _ , a voice begs, light and gentle, a whisper among the cosmos. 

A step.

_ Please, _ the voice begs again. it tingles warm under his skin.

Another step.

_ Shiro! _

He stops. His breath feels caught. He knows that voice, somehow. 

It calls again, echoes,  _ beckons _ him and his breath leaves in a rush. There's a break on the horizon and the stars, somehow, shine brighter. _Come back to me_ , the voice seems to say, _don't leave now_. All of that encompassed in his name. The warmth has spread to his fingers, his toes, wrapped around him like a blanket on a cold night.

He breathes and it feels like life. He blinks and he sees Keith. Sees the distress quickly replaced by wonder. 

There are stars in his eyes. 

Shiro is sitting up. He's not sure how but it doesn't last for long. He falls back, stronger yet weaker than before and strong arms catch him. Hold him.

The warmth is still there.

“Shiro,” Keith says but it sounds more like a gasp, a breath of relief. His hand is spread against Shiro's chest, a warm brand against his heart. It feels like a promise where Keith holds him tight. It’s not a bad feeling. 

You saved me, he thinks and lets himself sink into it.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro doesn't wake afterwards. He sleeps, unresponsive to anything the rest of them do, and Allura calls it a coma. A sleep to heal the mind and the body. 

Keith makes a promise to himself to stay with him. Just until he wakes up. The Voltron core helps to bring him back home, to the seaside town of Izumi where Shiro grew up. The house, recently left by aged grandparents, stands in view of the ocean, old but well loved.

It's not long before the team starts to go their separate ways. They wait until Keith has himself and Shiro situated but he can tell when they start getting antsy. They all have their lives to get back to now that the war is over. Families and jobs that are waiting for them at home.

Keith’s only home was lost, his only family as free roaming as him. It’s not a chore to be the one to watch over Shiro, especially since his brother is gone. 

Lance returns to Altea with Allura and Lotor. Pidge goes back to Calum and Hunk to Plaht.

Keith watches Shiro sleep, and waits. 

The people of Izumi are wary of him. They know he’s galra even if he doesn't entirely look it but they put up with him in order to check on Shiro. Not that he lets them in beyond the doorstep, he doesn't want them to disturb the house any more than he already is.

It's a small place, quaint, perfect for the people that raised Shiro. Everyday, he learns something new about them as he explores. Shiro’s grandmother, Reiko, loved to paint. There's paintings in every corner of the house with her signature, a collection of used paints and brushes tucked in the corner of the rec room. Ryou, Shiro’s grandfather, collected books from every corner of the continent, it seems like. There's shelves in every room, lined with books on various topics and languages

They both loved their grandson.

Keith tries not to impact it too much. He watches Shiro sleep, feeds him potions to heal and sustain him, and  _ waits. _

It’s a week in when he's woken by something in the middle of the night. He stays prone on the couch, ears straining for anything beyond the ticking of the clock. Shiro is still quiet in his room. Kosmo shifts with a quiet wuff.

The noise comes again, a thump on the front step followed by a low groan. Keith is on his feet in seconds, knife in hand. He steps to the window, silent as he peers through the drapes. A shadow moves towards the door, and Keith's first thought is burglar. But there's a hunch to it, a sway to its step that tells Keith it might not be.

He goes to the door.

He knob turns but Keith keeps the door locked at night. It rattles in its frame, the deadbolt firm. There's a sob, hitched and low on the other side, and Keith's heart leaps in his chest. 

_ “Ryou.”  _ The knife is away and the door is open. Ryou stands on the other side, eyes wide and covered in filth but Keith doesn't care. He pulls Ryou close and holds him tight. The man practically collapses in his arms and his hold is just as tight around Keith's ribs.

“You're alive!” he gasps into Ryou’s hair and Ryou’s nodding against him, tears seeping into the shoulder of his shirt. They rock, back and forth on the doorstep, and Keith doesn't let go. Not when Ryou so clearly needs it. 

He doesn't ask what happened. 

They only separate when Ryou starts to pull away. He wipes the tears from his face but it only smears the mess that's already on it. A mess of blood and sweat, now mixed with his tears and Keith ushers him towards the bath. 

“Shiro?” Ryou questions as they pass the bedroom. Keith nudges him forward.

“Still asleep,” he says. “I’ll tell you everything later. After you're clean.”

“Right, right.” It's a weary nod as he stumbles along. He nearly trips turning into the bathroom but he catches himself before Keith can reach out. As soon as he's in, he starts to strip. Keith hovers in the doorway.

“I'll make some food,” he says when he's sure Ryou’s got himself.

“Thank you.” The relief is palpable, down to the drop in his shoulder and the breath on his voice. Ryou looks at him, more tired and weary than the team looked after the war. But it’s a familiar look and Keith swallows down the guilt. He nods and turns back towards the kitchen. 

He regrets not doing something before. That he didn't try harder to see if Ryou was actually dead. How long did he suffer in that ruin with no one coming to save him?

The thought nearly makes Keith gag.

He busies himself in the kitchen, throwing something together that won't make Ryou sick. Some kind of soup, probably. Light with no dairy. He doesn't know the last time Ryou ate. 

The pot hits the stovetop louder than he intends but he only allows himself a moment to feel sorry about it. If Shiro wakes up now, it's only a good thing. he takes a deep breath and gets back to work.

The soup is done long before Ryou comes out from the bath. He’d left clothes by the door, some of Shiro's that he was sure would fit, and left him to it. if he needed more time to feel human again, Keith wasn't going to get in the way of it.

He does let himself out eventually, steadier on his feet and far more relaxed. But he still limps when he steps into the kitchen and there's a bandage taped over his left brow. Keith is sure there’s more hidden under his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Keith says as Ryou sinks into a chair. He gets confusion in return and Keith prepares him a bowl before answering it right away. He sets the soup in front of Ryou and settles across from him. “We left you behind.”

“You thought I was dead.” Keith nods. The quiet stretches between them, both of them probably searching for something to say. The only sound is the soft tap of Ryou’s spoon as he starts to eat. 

“Zarkon had your helmet,” Keith says eventually. “I thought… there was nothing else left. We thought…” He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his face. “Kolivan didn't tell us.”

“I don't think… he knew either,” Ryou says. “I woke up surrounded by galra but I didn't remember. The world was falling apart around me, I was back in Zarkon’s castle and I thought the galra were there to kill me. So I ran.”

“You didn't-”

“I remember now. You don't- I remember. And it's not your fault. You thought I was  _ dead _ , thats-  _ I’m _ sorry.” 

“Ryou…” 

Ryou shrugs, and Keith sighs. They sit in comfortable silence as Ryou finishes eating. 

“Hows Shiro?” he asks. Keith meets his gaze evenly. 

“Stable,” he says. "But he hasn't woken up since the fight. The prophecy, it was talking about his life force. Humans aren't meant to use magic, it drains their soul too fast and Shiro used… nearly all of his.”

“So how did he live?”

“Allura, mostly. I helped, but I wouldn't have been able to without her.”

“... You saved him.”

Keith nods, huffs a laugh from the memory. “He said that too, actually, right before he passed out in my arms again.”

“And you brought him home.”

“We all did.”

Ryou shakes his head and leans forward. “No one else knew where he lived. You're the only one that knew of this house. You brought him home. Thank you.”

“Ahh, you're…” Keith ducks his head and tries to will the blush out of his face. “You're welcome, I guess.” Ryou leans back with a smile but it doesn't last long.

“His right arm is gone,” he says and Keith nods, his lips pressed thin. “His hair is white.” Another observation and Keith nods again. “Do you think… he’ll actually wake up?”

“I have to.” Keith meets Ryou’s gaze. “He gave everything to end the war. How fair would it be if I didn't do the same to see him survive it?”

Ryou looks at him, head tilted like he's seeing Keith in a new light. Then he grins with a laugh that has Keith frowning.

“Shiro will be happy you stayed,” he says. Keith blinks at him, but he just waves it off and stands. The bowl gets put in the sink. “I’m tired so I'm going to bed. Don't stay up too much longer, Shiro wouldn't like it if you overworked yourself now.”

“Right.” Keith's nod is an absent one, reflex more than anything. Ryou smiles as he leaves Keith in the kitchen. 

“Good night,” he calls through the house before there's the soft click of a bedroom door closing. Not Shiro's room, Keith can still see it from where he's sitting, but the room that used to be their grandparents. Right… 

“Good night,” Keith murmurs to the quiet air before turning off the lights and returning to the couch. 

Morning comes sooner than he'd like. 

He preps Shiro’s medicine with what's becoming routine, guiding the fluids down Shiro’s throat with practiced motions. Then it’s breakfast for him and Kosmo. And Ryou, he remembers when he sees the dish in the sink. 

_ Ryou’s alive. _

He needs to tell the others. 

He detours to the rec room where the writing desk is tucked in the corner. The note is quick but news like this doesn't need to be drawn out. He calls Kosmo with a sharp whistle out the window and hands him the folded sheet when he appears in a flash.

“Take this to the others.” he directs. “Make your rounds. Ryou’s alive.” Kosmos nose presses against his cheek before bounding away and leaving in another flash.

“Keith?” Ryou stands in the doorway, sleep mused and whole, and Keith smiles.

“Just telling the others,” he says. He brushes past and heads for the kitchen. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Ryou doesn't leave. Isn't going to, Keith realizes after a couple days of Ryou making himself more and more comfortable in the house. And it makes sense, the place is his too, as well as Shiro’s, Keith just doesn't know why he's surprised about it.

Maybe its because the others all left so quickly after, he half expected Ryou to do the same. But he doesn't. He wakes up with Keith, helps take care of his brother. He comes home after trying to find a job in town and eats dinner with him. They talk to fill the silence in between and Keith starts to relax.

The days are a little less lonely now, filled with more than just the sound of his own voice and the ocean outside. 

Kolivan appears early one morning, darkening the doorstep with an apology and a message from his mother. Ryou is still asleep when Keith lets him in. They sit in the kitchen with coffee, both quiet as Keith reads the note from Krolia.

“The blades are transforming,” he murmurs, setting the page down and picking up his mug. He runs his fingers over the rim, thinking. Kolivan nods.

“We are not as secret as we used to be,” he says, just as quiet. “Our initial purpose has been fulfilled. The Empire, as we knew it, is gone. Many of us agree with your mother when she says we could grow, give aide in the light instead of just the shadows.”

“Extend our hand bare of blade.”

Kolivan pauses then sits back with a slight sigh. “She spoke with you.”

“Of course she did. She hated that the war is what took her away from me. That there was a chance we could never have met again afterwards.” He also leans back, mimics Kolivan from across the table. “She wants to help the people that never got what we did. That never will.”

“... Yes.”

Keith raises his mug up to his lips but doesn't drink. He wants to help his mother, desperately. But there's another person in the other room that needs his help more. Keith cant leave him now.

“Come back when Shiro is better,” he says. Kolivan looks at him like he expected the answer. “I’ll be ready then, but for now, he needs my help.”

Kolivan bows his head in solemn acceptance. He stands, his cup empty on the table. “The blade is ready for you when you return.” he says. “Until then, stay well.”

“Stay well.” Keith returns but Kolivan doesn't leave immediately. He stares at Keith, taking him in, and Keith lowers his drink back to the table.

“You've grown well.” His voice is softer, like he’s telling a secret. Keith blinks up at him. “You’ve come far from the vagrant searching for answers. I’m proud to call you a friend.”

It takes him by surprise, warmth filling his chest and heat flooding his face. “Thank you,” he says. “For teaching me. For giving me back my family.” Kolivan's smile is quick, gone in a blink, and then he's leaving.

The door shuts just as Ryou comes around the corner. He eyes the door then the empty mug on the table. “Was that Kolivan?” He guesses. Keith nods as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“He sends his apologies for leaving you behind,” he says.

Ryou snorts as he starts to make his own drink. “So has everyone else.” He gestures to the growing stack of papers next to the cabinet. “Have you taken care of Shiro yet?” Keith shakes his head and Ryou moves on to getting the bottles together.

The days are starting to blur together when Shiro finally wakes. Spring is moving into Summer and more cicadas are waking up daily. Ryou's in town again, having found a job with the local blacksmith. Keith, with the growing heat, decides to nap to dodge the midday flare.

The cough wakes him up. The house is quiet and Keith is on his feet before he even realizes why. But there's a shift and a groan, Shiro waking up, and Keith is at his side in seconds. 

“Keith.” Shiro gasps his name and falls back on the pillows behind him. He reaches, left arm stretching over his chest and Keith takes his hand in his. He holds it tight as Shiro grins, so contagious it spreads to his own face.

“We made it,” he says, breathless through the gravel in his voice. “We’re alive. Zarkon’s  _ dead. _ ”

“ _ Yeah. _ ” Keith nods and the giddy feeling comes back. The surprise at their success, so unlikely at the time, feels more true now. “ _ You _ made it,” he stresses, shaking their hands between them. “That stunt almost killed you but you’re here! And Ryou’s alive, and we all  _ made it. _ ”

“Ryou’s alive?”

“He’s at work,” Keith nods again. “He’s fine, far better than you are,” he says and that seems to draw Shiro's attention back to himself.

“My arm is gone,” Shiro tells him, and Keith has to fight to keep the apology out of his face. 

“By the time we realized, it was too late,” he says, “your soul took priority.”

“And I managed to keep my leg too? Bonus,” Shiro quips and Keith doesn't even try to hold back the snort. He stands back, giving their joined hands one last shake before letting go.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” he says, “Then we’ll go over everything you've missed, if you're up to it.” Shiro nod but his eyes are already drooping, still tired, still healing. Keith stops in the doorway.

“Hey, Shiro?” Shiro grunts grunts through a yawn, his hand rubbing vainly at an eye. “It’s good to have you back.” The smile he gets is soft.

“It’s good to be back,” Shiro murmurs and Keith walks away with his chest warm. When he comes back and Shiro's half asleep again, murmuring nonsense as Keith coaxes him to drink. He doesn't finish the glass, but Keith isn't too worried. 

Shiro’s going to live.

He tells Ryou the news as soon as he gets home. He’s covered in sweat with soot over his brow, but he still grabs Keith in a hug that squeezes the air out of his lungs.

"Thank you!" he exclaims laughing, and if his eyes look a bit wet, Keith is not pointing it out. “Is he still up?” he asks then visibly deflates when Keith shakes his head. 

“He drank some but he fell back asleep pretty quickly,” he says to which Ryou nods with a sigh. Keith pulls away, leaving to Ryou to go and clean himself up. “I'm gonna make him something to eat for when he wakes up,” he explains, “then I’m heading out for a bit.”

“Okay.”

Keith stops, turning back to see Ryou standing in the doorway to Shiro's room. There's a slump to his shoulders, a certain wistfulness to the way he hovers.

“He's going to be okay,” he promises. He knows it now, feels it in his heart. The fear that Shiro would never wake up at all is gone. Ryou looks at him, barely a glance before he's drawn back to his brother. 

“I know,” he says, quiet and subdued. “He just looks… small.”

Keith takes a deep breath. He knows what Shiro looks like in there. Pale, eyes sunken, muscle atrophied, and down an arm. He looks a shadow of the man that won the war but it's a small cost to pay for his life.

“He's alive.” Keith lets the statement hover between them. Lets it sink in so they'll both remember it. 

“Yeah.” Ryou nods. Then he repeats himself and nods again, more determined as a grin breaks through and tears threaten to fall again. 

Shiro's going to be fine.

Keith leaves the house as soon as the food is done and set aside. Ryou has it handled and Keith knows Ryou is going to continue to have it handled as Shiro keeps healing. Which means he doesn't have to stay there.

Which means he needs to find his own place to live.

Which might be hard but maybe not. The townsfolk don't give Keith the same looks that they used to. He thinks they're kinder but it's also only been 3 weeks. It's probably because of Ryou’s presence but at this point, Keith will take what he can get.

He just hopes that its enough for them to let him have a house.

bBy the time he makes it back, the sun is setting and Keith is without a solid plan. The clerk in the town hall took his request but didn't tell him anything concrete. It was expected, just by the face that was pulled as soon as Keith walked in but some part of him is still disappointed.

Keith gets a strange look the next day when Ryou comes home but he doesn't go into it when asked. The look goes away fast enough that Keith decides not to press.

Shiro wakes up in intervals, always quiet and never for long. He's getting better, Keith knows, eating and drinking more each time, but it's frustrating. for all of them. 

Shiro tries to walk the third day he's awake. It's the first time he's up for longer than five minutes and Keith can tell immediately that he's restless. He keeps staring out the window, distracted from the bowl of thin soup and water that Keith is trying to feed him. 

“I want to go outside,” he says, so quiet that Keith almost doesn't catch it. He sits back, setting the water on the bedside table.

“It's been 3 days,” he points out. `It's the first time you've been coherent for more than 10 minutes’, he doesn't say.

Shiro looks at him and Keith will admit that he does look a lot better. His colour is coming back and his hand doesn't shake as much when he reaches. But he's still recovering from near death and even Keith knows that's not something to take lightly.

“I've been here for 3 weeks,” Shiro says like its a legitimate argument. Keith gives him a deadpan look but Shiro's chin lifts and a familiar stubborn gleam lights his eyes. 

“Fine.” Keith relents after a long pause between them and tries not to look too amused at Shiro’s triumphant smirk. “Just let me put this away. Don't get up without me.”

Shiro nods and Keith nods back before he takes the soup back to the kitchen. He’s aware of the shuffling as he dumps it back in the sink. He doesn't expect the sharp cry and crash just as he turns back around and his heart leaps to his throat.

"Shiro!" 

Shiro’s on the floor, struggling to lift himself and bright red is already blooming along the side of his forehead. Keith rushes over and resolutely doesn't say anything as he helps Shiro sit upright. He checks the mark, ignoring the sharp hiss he gets in response. It looks fine, but he pretends to takes longer to avoid looking Shiro in the eye.

“You haven't moved in three weeks,” he says. “Before that, you used your entire life force to defeat Zarkon. Shiro.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He pulls back to brace his hands on his knees. When he opens his eyes, Shiro still looks defiant, more understanding, but it's not enough. Keith needs him to  _ understand _ . He grits his teeth before forcing the truth out.

“Shiro, you died.” And Shiro's eyes go wide. “You were dead,” Keith stresses, “and Allura and I nearly didn’t succeed. If it were anyone else, I don't think we would have.” And then it's quiet between them as Keith's words sink in and Shiro slumps back against the bed. 

“I died.” He looks down at himself, at his hand that he slowly curls into a loose fist. Keith lays his hand over it.

“You can ask for help,” he says. “You don't need to prove yourself here.” Shiro looks at him with a level of vulnerability that Keith hasn’t seen before. His hand opens and Keith shifts to hold it tighter.

“You’ll help me?” 

It’s a whisper, a secret Shiro barely wants to admit, Keith knows. He finds it’s not an exaggeration when he laces their fingers together and says, “Always.”

Keith gets a house. 

It’s small and pretty run down but it’s not like he has much to fill it with and it’s not too far from Shiro and Ryou’s. Actually getting it was something of a surprise and the fact that it belonged to someone the town lost to the war is a slightly bigger one. But Ryou came home one day, about a month after he first inquired, with a set of keys and a grin telling him the house is his.

He has a house.

Kosmo, looking enormous in the front room, investigates every corner he can fit his nose into. Keith trails slowly behind him trying to imagine building a life here. And it’s not hard, surprisingly. There’s a single bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, and the front room. He’s always lived sparingly but now… 

He has a  _ home _ . 

A place to come back to. He’s so used to carrying his life on his back that it’s legitimately mind boggling that he doesn’t have to anymore. He can leave things behind and know that they’ll still be there when he returns. 

It's a lot to get used to and there's a lot to fix. the windows are drafty. the boards on the deck need to be replaced. the plumbing, he suspects, is broken in the kitchen. He doesn't even have any furniture, but it's a home and it's  _ his _ .

Shiro makes his way over, day after day as he steadily fixes the place up and makes it his. His smile is bright every time he appears at the end of the walk, only matched by his hair in the sun. And he gets stronger, strong enough to help, strong enough to play at sparring. He manages to get Keith down one day with the sun casting him in gold, low on the horizon, and it leaves him breathless. 

His heart skips in his chest for a reason besides the exertion and Keith knows he's in trouble. 

Shiro leaves just as the sunset fades and the street lamps flicker to life like he always does. The hand on his shoulder is warm and so is the hug that happened once on accident and kept happening every day after. He thinks, hopes, that maybe his realization isn't just him. That maybe Shiro likes him too.

But it's a thought that gets put on hold when Kolivan appears the next morning. Shiro's better, it's time to get back to work. It's a bit disheartening but Keith doesn't refuse. He follows the missive that Kolivan gives him, no time like the present, and meets with Krolia (and romelle, surprisingly) at a hidden mine deep in the wastes. 

It's a camp, falling apart at the lack of leadership even if the warden in charge of the place insists the world is still Galra strong. The prisoners are sick and terrified, cowing to his threats and glares, and Keith hates that it took this long to find them.

They break it down from the inside out. They disable the security, set the charges, and release the prisoners until its chaos on the inside and the warden is forced to run. His only guard force, a group of sentries that havent seen service in a long time, is taken down easily. After that its clean up and rescue now that they know any ship sent isn't going to be shot down.

The prisoners don't trust them. They stare at Krolia with fear and hate and don't like him and Romelle by association. So they keep their distance. He adds to the message they send out, asking for Allura or Coran to help. It wont do them any good to antagonize these people now.

And it gives him time to explore, to find out what exactly they were mining in a place so desolate. 

It doesn't take him long.

It's not labeled, because why would it be, but there's no mistaking the gleaming black ore that fills the crates. Luxite, the base of every galran tradition, thought to be dwindling and considered to be more sacred as a result, fills these tunnels. He lifts a rock, feels the energy that sings inside, and knows exactly what he's going to do. It's not like they'll miss it.

He takes some home.

_ Home. _

The thought still gets him sometimes. 

Shiro's waiting for him when he appears, pensive as he thumbs the note that Keith left behind. He looks up briefly as Keith drops to the ground, a touch of a smile on his lips that he doesn't even seem conscious about. The paper in his hands has been folded soft.

He doesn't seem to care that the sun is long gone, that it's closer to morning again than late at night. He has a lamp to cast a dim light across the porch and it only makes his exhaustion stand out more. 

“You’ve been here all day.” It's not a question but Shiro nods anyway.

“I tried going home but I couldn't stop thinking. Worrying. So I came back and tried to do some stuff here but.” He shrugs and Keith notices the wood pile looks a bit more haphazard than he left it. And there's an odd cut in one of the planks.

He sighs softly and sits on the step next to Shiro. “His name is Haoruk,” he says. “He ran a camp mine deep in Daibazaal’s wastes. At the end of the war, his camp had over 5000 prisoners. We rescued 2037.” He doesn't need to say what happened to the rest.

“What happened to him?”

“He ran. Disappeared into the desert.” Keith rub his hands over his face and Shiro hums in understanding. He bumps his shoulder against Keith’s and Keith presses against him. “I hate that he got away, that we weren't able to kill him. But I also want him to suffer for what he put those people through and he can't do that while hes dead.”

“A noble cause for letting him live.”

“I thought so.”

They laugh at the grim humour until they fall quiet, sitting together as the birds start to wake and the sky lightens in the east. When the shadows start to separate, Keith stands. Exhaustion is starting to weigh on his limbs and every other breath holds a yawn. 

Shiro himself looks half asleep, like he could pass out on the step any second. Keith huffs a laugh and jostles his knees, reaching for his hand to haul him to his feet. 

“Come on.” He tugs Shiro after him and heads inside, waving off any sound of protest. “We can share,” he says and shoves Shiro towards the bed, which is currently only a mattress on the floor. It's not even in the bedroom either, set in the front room while he builds everything else. 

“You're sure?” Shiro sways on the spot, absentmindedly petting Kosmo as he brushes up next to Shiro and settles on the floor.

“Get in the bed.” Keith shoves him again and Shiro sinks onto it with a groan. 

Keith has an idea, one that he thinks Shiro will appreciate if not love. He takes the luxite ore and heads into town for the one blacksmith that hasn't sneered at him since he came into town. Her name is Hira, a stern older woman with a nose for business. Keith normally comes to buy the pieces he needs to put his furniture together but her eyes gleam as soon as Keith steps into the shop. 

“You have something for me,” she says and Keith wastes no time in setting his prize on the counter. Her current project, still in the sketching stages, gets tossed aside when he pulls out a chunk of the ore. 

“Luxite,” she gasps, taking it and turning it over in her hands, and there's a bit of relief that she even knows what it is. The chances of her knowing how to work it is better than he thought. She looks over the selection Keith brought her, enough for two blades if she's careful, then pins Keith with a look.

“This is for someone.” It's not a question. Her gaze is intense and Keith gives himself a mental pat on the back that he doesn't immediately turn red. It makes sense that if she knows what it is, she knows what it's typically used for. He doesn't do her the disservice of denying it. 

“A friend,” he says, and the smile he gets is knowing, like its a joke that they're both in on. 

“A friend.” Her grin stretches and Keith still manages to keep the red from his face. “A deal for you,” she says as she starts collecting the chunks of ore in her arms. “I will do your commission for free if you allow me to keep what I don't use.”

The decision isn't hard. He trusts her enough.

“Deal.” He nods and Hira scurries into the back with her victory. 

“Come back in 2 days,” she calls through the open door. “The sketches will be done for your consideration.” Keith spends a couple moments afterwards standing at the counter and listening to the frantic murmuring he can hear from the back. He breathes out, willing the nerves to go with it. 

Shiro will understand, he tells himself as he leaves. A sword made of luxite isn't a gift to take lightly. Surely he’ll understand.

“I need mythril,” Hira demands as soon as they finalize the design. Its similar to the one that Shiro lost, same length and style, but lighter and more durable simply because its luxite. They have plans to infuse it with quintessence but Keith needs to learn first  _ how _ to do that. 

And now she needs mythril .

He contacts Kolivan first with the request. He gets a look from him when they meet, one that says he  _ knows _ that Keith isn't telling him everything but he's willing to let it slide. 

For now.

Kolivan gives him a mission and not much else. Keith reads it through and he can tell there's not much to it. It's small, remote, and the mission parameters just want him looking around. A scouting mission.

“You’ll find what you're looking for there." Is all Kolivan tells him. 

So he says goodbye to Shiro in person this time and heads out. He tries not to think about the pout Shiro gave him. The disappointment that weighed on his very voice. He turns it into incentive to get back quicker. 

It takes a week for him to get there, him and Kosmo never having gone beyond the borders of Altea, Daibazaal, and Western Terra. He finds himself deep in ancient Olkari grounds, surrounded by trees and stone structures brought to ruin by nature. There's a legend carved into the stone, woven into the bark, and he records everything. 

The people don't live here anymore, he knows, scattered throughout the rest of the continent because of Zarkon's reign. But with the end of the war, they might come back and Keith makes sure to leave everything as he came across it. 

He doesn't find what Kolivan sent him to find though. He doesn't think he does anyway, unless its transcribed in Olkari legend and at that point it’ll have to wait until he gets back home.

Then the ground crumbles beneath him and Kosmo, a few paces ahead of him, only manages to turn before he slips into the hole. He curses on landing, his ankles twinging and his back feeling like it's going to bruise. More dirt falls after him, showering him in a fine cloud of dust and debris. There's a whine from above and Kosmos shadow blocks the small amount of light from his fall.

“I'm fine,” he calls up. The dust is clearing and his eyes are quickly getting used to the level of light revealing just what he's fallen into. Pillars line the walls and form a path heading back towards the city centre. Archways, originally supporting a dirt ceiling, he assumes, stand free. 

There's another whine and the sound of digging and Keith steps out of range of the fall of dirt. “Just a minute.” He digs a light out of his pack. 

The pillars are pristine for being underground, their curves smooth and the runes carved along the base clear. The path they trace is well defined in the ground, laid with something that might actually be clay. The dirt, he notices, is only where he fell through.

This is maintained. 

He moves further in and Kosmo finally gets fed up and flashes in behind him. “Looks like we found something,” Keith tells him, taking the investigative jostle in stride. They follow the path as the cavern narrows down. The pillars and archways do their jobs, keeping the tunnel from collapsing on itself. Lights start appearing the further he goes, slowly going from unlit to lit, spaced between 3 or 4 to every one. 

It turns out, this place isn't as abandoned as he thought. 

There's a door at the end of the path, framed by the last archway, and Keith barely hesitates before knocking on it with his fist. The sound echoes, moreso on the other side than his, and Keith knows that whatever room the door is blocking is huge. 

Enough to hold an entire civilization, maybe.

But he hears nothing else. He waits five minutes, enough time for Kosmo to get bored and disappear somewhere else. Its nearing the 10 minute mark when he does hear something. 

It starts as an echo, a whisper of something that could be moving on the other side. He whistles and Kosmo appears at his back. Another minute and the sound gets louder. Voices distinguish themselves from the shuffle of feet, then there's the sound of the door being opened. 

A door.

A panel, really.

A face appears in the new hole, familiar only because Keith knows what an Olkari looks like. They glare at him and Kosmo, at the uniform that labels him a Blade, but they look far more willing to talk when they see he's the only one standing there. “Talk.”

“My name is Keith.” He introduces himself. “I'm an agent of the Blade of Marmora, a rescue organization in the wake of Zarkon’s defeat. I was sent to the area to scout for anything out of the ordinary.” The eyes narrow.

“You're telling me the Demon King is dead, that the scourge of the continent has finally been ended.”

“By the words of Queen Melenor, I saw it myself.”

The eyes seem to narrow further as they look Keith over more closely. “By the shadows,” they murmur then disappear and the panel slams shut. Seconds later, the door opens, just as loud as Keith thought it would be. Soldiers. Militiamen, maybe. Civilians with arms, even, back the Olkari at the door. They all watch as he and Kosmo enter, not trusting but not about to strike him with their swords either. 

“Stay close and don't wander,” the leader tells him. And then they're off, a procession through dim wide corridors. 

The walls are smooth, seamless stone that stretch floor to ceiling and the pillars that guided him here don't continue on this side, the ceiling itself taking on an arched ridged texture. There are portions where the wall is clear, windows to allow light in but just looking at them, Keith can't tell where its coming from. Otherwise, the place is bare. Undecorated. 

Then they cross some sort of threshold that Keith didn't notice. Couldnt notice, maybe.

The light blooms around him and the path they're taking changes. A bridge appears under their feet, spanning above a city that fills the massive cavern they are in. A dull roar fills the previous silence, a combined echo of the city living.

Thriving.

“This is Olkarion.” A city thought to be lost with the scattering of the Olkari people. The olkari leading him looks back, the look in their eyes less severe. More considering. 

“I’m going to take you to Ryner,” they say and a look to one of the guards has them saluting and running ahead. The rest of the entourage stays. 

So they’re organized then.

Keith is taken to the tower that stands in the middle of the cavern. It extends from floor to ceiling, bridges connecting it to the walls like threads. A lift along one of the sides takes them down, the glass letting him see the city as more and more comes into focus. 

It's covered before they reach the bottom, the sudden shadow somewhat startling. He turns just as the lift starts to slow and the doors open to a wide lobby. Another Olkari stands there, older and a crest pinned across the chest of their robes. The only one with that crest, he notices.

“Welcome to Olkarion, traveller.” The Olkari bows their head, crossing their hands together just below chest height. “My name is Ryner, Regent of the Olkari people.”

Keith and Kosmo arrive back in Izumi around midmorning. The revelations on his mind weigh just as heavy as the pack on his back. The report he made to Kolivan is one he doesn't know what to make of. Olkarion still exists. Has existed and prevailed despite the ruin Zarkon left of their home. They hid, changed and adapted. 

Survived. 

He was sent off with gifts, tributes to share with the other leaders. He barely understands the technology of them and he has full intentions of sending them to Pidge to figure out. After he shows them to Allura.

But first-

Kosmo stops in front of Hira's shop and Keith thanks him with a pat. There's a hiss from the back as he steps in and he waits for it to fade before calling her out. she comes immediately, wiping her hands on her apron before reaching towards him, fingers grabbing.

"You have the mythril," she says before Keith even has the ingot unwrapped. 

"I have the mythril," he confirms with a grin. It gleams pale even in the dim light of the shop and Hira snatches it up with a cackle of glee. 

"Come," she demands and shuffles into the back. Keith follows, taking in everything that goes in to metal working. Her current project is resting, set aside in a row of other finished projects. 

He spots the luxite blade, Shiro's blade, immediately. It's set aside, separated in its own clear case. The blade is smooth, single edge slightly curved and Keith can see something carved along the flat. 

Hira sets the mythril aside, waving Keith over as she lifts the cover. Her look is assessing as he nears, grey eyes intent. "You've learned," she says in a way that gives him pause. 

The olkari did teach him something, but nothing direct. Their technology deals with energy, self directed and generated, and Keith knows there's something similar he could do with quintessence. He watched them as Ryner showed him around, saw how they infused the earth and metal, guided nature with their will. They think in code, Ryner told him, a term he's only really heard from Pidge.

He doesn't know how to do what the olkari do but he does know quintessence. Allura uses it, Lotor uses it. He thinks, maybe he can figure out how to harness it too.

“You have felt the champions life.” Keith stops. Hira is watching him steadily, standing over the blade but not touching it. “Quintessence is needed to connect this blade to his heart, guided by a hand that has his trust. The champion does not know me, does not trust me, but you…”

she trails off and Keith swallows at the implication. 

“Of course he trusts me,” he tells her. “We fought together.” But then the rest of her sentence catches up to him and the confusion stops him short. “Wait, you could-” And Hira laughs.

“You are smart!” She waves nonchalantly and snatches up a couple pairs of gloves, throwing one at him. “My grandmother is galra, once a powerful druid back in her day. it's been humans since but the magic stays. Come.” She waves him closer and Keith steps up next to the table as he slides on the gloves. 

“I can guide you but I cannot teach you. Druid magic is inherent, instinctive. You are a warrior through and through but the quintessence shines bright in your soul. You visited the Olkari, yes?” She takes his hands as she talks, placing them along the flat edge of the blade. Keith nods, burning with curiosity but not about to ask how she knew. 

“It is much like that. You guide the quintessence with your will. Find it, let it find you, and speak to it your wishes." It's a vague direction, but one Keith understands. There's only so much he can do from the outside. 

So he takes a deep breath and concentrates. His eyes close and he focuses on the energy in the room. Quintessence lives in everything, flows in waves and currents. The quintessence in the luxite, tempered under Hiras hands, laps eager at his fingertips. 

He did this once, exhausted and terrified with Shiro's life on the line. The quintessence then was weak, a dying flame attached to Shiro's fading soul. He remembers begging, feeding Shiro's quintessence with his own and purging the last dregs of Haggar's corruption. 

He wants this sword to protect, to be more than a weapon. He wants it to be the reason Shiro comes home safe if he ever gets in trouble. He pours his love into the sword and hopes the quintessence will translate it well. 

He wants Shiro to live. 

“Keith.” 

He staggers back, suddenly breathless, and Hira catches him by the arms before his shaking legs can fail him. She's smiling, gentle as she guides him away from the table to a chair nearby. “You care for him greatly,” she says. The blade is shining bright in its case but it slowly fades until it settles into a dim glow much like his own.

“Go home,” Hira tells him. She hands him a glass and the water is blissfully cool when he drinks it. “You've done more than enough today.”

“Is it good?” The question comes out before he can stop it, the anxious swell in his chest clenching at his heart. He’ll do it again if he has to. He’ll pour every last drop of quintessence into it if that's what it takes to make it perfect. 

Hira laughs, light hearted and loud. “Young man.” She takes the glass away and wraps her hands around his fingers, holding tight. “This sword is the single greatest project I have worked on and I made the personal blade of King Alfor. You have nothing to worry about.”

He can't hold back the blush this time, ducking away from the pride glowing in Hira's eyes. It's good, he thinks, squeezing back. He wants this gift to be at its best. 

When he lets go, his hands aren't shaking anymore. Hira pats the back of one hand before she wanders off to fire up the kiln. The mythril gleams on the counter, and Keith knows it's going to be used for the hilt. 

“Go home,” Hira repeats, back to Keith and much more demanding. “Shiro is waiting.” And he leaves before she can turn around, face burning.

The sword gets delivered to him two days later by Hira personally. She drops it off with a grin that hides nothing and leaves just as Shiro is walking up the path. He waves as soon as their eyes meet, a level of puppyish excitement that leaves Keith's chest warm. 

The sword box is obvious, still in Keith's arms and Shiro is instantly curious. “A new sword?” he asks and Keith gestures him inside. 

“Not for me,” he says and Shiro's curiosity grows more intense. Focused. The ‘whos it for?’ is unspoken. Keith sets it on the kitchen table and steps back, waving for Shiro to open it. 

“Me?” His brows shoot to his hairline, and he points to himself for extra emphasis. Keith nods and the surprise in his eyes turn to wonder. “You got me a sword?” he asks. His fingers trail the edge of the wooden case.

“You lost yours,” Keith says. “Back when we were fleeing Zarkon's castle, and I know that you’re not going to stay in this town forever. You're going to get better and stronger, back to the point where you can explore and protect the people again.” The lid lifts, and Keith is glad that he hasn't actually seen the final product yet. That Shiro is the first to see it. 

“Keith,” Shiro gasps, reverent as he sets the cover gently back and reveals the sword. It sits in a bed of dark grey silks, myrthil hilt gleaming. there's mythril inlays in the sheath, too, striping down the narrow sides and reinforcing the black painted wood it's made out of. 

Shiro lifts it out of its case, taking it by the hilt, and neither of them miss the flash that lights under his fingers. Shiro's breath hitches, his jaw dropping.

“Keith,” he says again, heavy with knowledge. His grip is firm on the hilt but he doesn't move to pull it free. He looks at Keith, grey eyes glittering with the reflection of the sun on the mythril. The question is there, stark between them, and Keith nods.

Shiro swallows, visibly, audibly, and it's another moment before he pulls himself together. He offers the end of the sheath to Keith and Keith takes it, giving Shiro the leverage he needs to pull the blade free. The luxite glows, a stripe down the back of the blade shining with Shiro's life force and filling the engravings along the flat. 

The lines are unfamiliar to Keith, a language that he doesn't know, but Shiro clearly does. He glances at Keith but he doesn't speak, doesn't ask the question that's clearly burning in his eyes. His attention is stuck on the words, reading them over and over. 

Keith doesn't ask about it.

“What will you name it?” he asks instead and Shiro smiles. 

He shakes his head. “It already has a name.” He gestures for the sheath and Keith holds it out so Shiro can slide it home. He smiles at Keith in such a way that the sun catches his hair and eyes, and Keith tries not to focus on the way his heart skips a beat. 

“This is Pure Heart.”

Their visits shift.

Keith's home is more or less complete, the final project a new shed for Kosmo in the back. Instead, Shiro starts to train with his new sword in Keith's yard. The view is one Keith appreciates with Shiro in a tight tank more times than not. It's the height of summer and they're outside every day that it's not storming.

The sweat on his brow is a nice touch.

He asks, in the first couple days, why he doesn't practice in his own home. Not that he minds, but he's curious. Shiro's nose wrinkles in response before a disgruntled ‘Ryou’ is given. 

And Keith leaves it be. After he laughs loudly and Shiro pouts off to the side, but he leaves it be. 

Because Ryou seems to have an idea of Keith's intentions with the sword whereas Shiro has yet to do or say anything in response in regards to his feelings. Ryou will stop by after work, winking and smirking at him behind Shiro's back as they have dinner, and leave with his brother back home, Shiro none the wiser. 

It's frustrating.

Shiro loves Pure Heart, loves spending time with him, clearly, and he loves Keith in some sort of capacity. He hopes, anyway. Shiro looks at him with stars in his eyes. His palm is warm when it rests on Keith's shoulder. Keith doesn't comment when it lingers.

there's something there but Keith doesn't know how to bring it out. 

In the meantime, Keith needs to make sure Shiro doesn't get himself bedridden again. He’s watching Shiro train, the blade slicing through the air with confidence. The angle of his brow is sharp, full of concentration as Shiro shift between the forms. The build of sweat is light, tempered by the light breeze. 

The hammer in his hand is pretty much forgotten. 

It's because Keith is watching that he notices when Shiro slips. His balance is off, still adjusting, and the blade swings back too fast, too close. Shiro hisses and Keith is already moving. 

Red blooms along the side of his arm, a slice that runs a good 6 centimeters, and Keith takes Shiro’s arm and lifts it above his head. 

“We’re done for the day, I think.” Shiro doesn't object as he’s guided into the house.

“Been a while since I’ve done that,” he says. He lets Keith help him sit, doing his best to keep the blood from dripping all over the place. But it’s not like he has another hand to hold it back so Keith is prompt in getting a damp towel to cover it. 

“I should've known this would happen,” he scolds himself under his breath. Shiro gives him a look, wry with his own brand of scolding. His lips quirk in a half smile and Keith studiously works on cleaning the wound.

“Accidents happen,” he says. He shifts with Keith as his arm is twisted for better access. “I haven’t lost another limb yet so I consider it a win.”

Keith scoffs. “You can fix it yourself if you’re gonna be like that,” he tells him and drops Shiro’s arm on the table. Shiro yelps, pressing his arm against the surface to keep the towel on. 

“Keith!” He calls to Keith's back. Keith waves over his shoulder, on his way to the bathroom. “You can't leave me like this! I’m an invalid!” But there's laughter in his voice and Keith doesn't rush to grab the first aid kit from under the sink.

Shiro gets bandaged amid scolding remarks and barely held back laughter. Pure Heart is collected from the yard, wiped clean before being sheathed, and the rest of the day is then spent relaxing in the shade until Ryou arrives. 

A thought solidifies as the brothers leave, one spurned by a comment Ryou made over dinner. If Shiro keeps going the way he is, he's only going to run the risk of hurting himself more. His left hand isn't his dominant hand, he doesn't have the mobillity, the dexterity that he did with his right.

What if they got him a new hand?

It's a daunting task, he knows but the technology is out there somewhere. Haggar had to have some sort of research stored away to build her sentries, something that goes beyond the usual scope of prosthetics. 

Then he remembers the Olkari and their level of technology down in their underground city. If any of them had any prosthetics, he never noticed and that sounds like something Shiro would more interested in. 

Subtlety over flashy.

He sends Kosmo to Pidge with a message. He asks about the possibility, if it would even be feasible for him. Her reply comes back in a package, a device that, apparently, sends messages instantly. ‘Send me his measurements’ is written on the surface next to a drawn image of Pidge’s face. ‘I’ll let you know when it’s done’.

It takes him a bit to figure the device out but he gets Pidge what she needs. He lets Ryou in on the secret only because he won’t shut up when Keith gets the measurements from him. The wagging eyebrows are a small price to pay. 

In the meantime, there’s something else he can get Shiro instead. He goes to Hira and she gives him a sword, edge dulled. 

“Free,” she says when he tries to pay, going so far as to put the money back in his bag herself. “There is no price on courting,” she tells him when he tries to insist. “It is a gift, a gesture. Consider it a wish from me that you will find happiness.”

And much like when he’s dealing with his mother, Keith finds himself giving in. He thanks her, voice thick with emotion and face red to his ears. He leaves before she can embarrass him further. 

“You’re a good friend,” Shiro says when Keith gives him the training sword. His smile is warm and so is his embrace when he pulls Keith in. But the phrase sticks in his mind, taunting him through the rest of the day.

He screams into his pillow that night and Kosmo starts giving him Looks. Capital ‘L’ intended. 

But Shiro's actions don't change between the Blade missions that are coming with increasing frequency. When they talk, Keith doesn't think about it, doesn't let it impair their interactions. He basks in Shiro presence and lets himself exist.

Maybe all he needs is time. 

He asks Lance for advice once in a rare lapse in judgement. They’ve all been given Pidge’s messaging machine, even the Blade, and it’s with that that he messages Lance. He’s,  _ somehow _ , in a relationship with two other people and they’re royalty at that. Surely he knows  _ something. _

‘maybe tone it down?’ He gets back after explaining what he’s done so far. ‘or just ask him idk, you're pretty intense dude. though why he'd be interested in your wild ass is’--

Keith gives it up as a write off and tries not to think about it any further. The nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that maybe Lance is right keeps him from doing anything ostentatious. For human standards anyway, since he apparently doesn't know what that is anymore. 

So he does end up ‘toning it down’. 

He wakes up, spends time with Shiro everyday he’s home and it’s  _ easy _ . He doesn't think when they're together. Time passes in a blink, even when they barely talk. He can’t actually recall any other time where sitting together in silence was something he wanted to do.

Shiro starts riding again when the Summer eases into fall. His old mare Black is antsy as they leave the stable, just as excited to be out with shiro as he is to be with her. Keith follows them on the trail, perched on Kosmo’s back, and watches. 

Shiro leads her like he was never injured to begin with, reigns looped around his wrist and knees braced on her sides. They race along the edge of a field, use felled trees as obstacles to jump. Shiro and Black move as one entity and its probably one of the most freeing things Keith's seen since the end of the war.

Shiro doesn't fumble as much with the sword anymore either. He doesn't have the full maneuverability he did with his right arm, probably never will, but Shiro has taken to challenging keith to spars and Keith finds himself turning them down less and less. It's gotten to the point that Shiro almost doesn't need the new arm.

Of course, it's the next day that Pidge rides into town with her brother in tow and no warning at all. Keith checks his messages just to make sure. Of course, it's also a day filled with rain. Keith is holed up in Shiro's kitchen, trying his best to keep the building from burning down as the brothers attempt to cook from their grandmothers recipe book.

Pidge is a welcome distraction.

“Behold!” She comes in with a crack of thunder, a box raised over her head. “I come bearing granted wishes!” 

“Bear them inside!” Matt shoves her further than the doorway and shuts the door on the sheets of rain behind them.

“You better thank me,” she says, ignoring her brother entirely. She shakes off her coat and boots, leaving them in dripping piles in front of the door. Matt sighs as he discards his own coat. “This is the pinnacle of science. no one will ever top what I have done. Shiro, your life is going to change after today!” The box is set on the table with a heavy thump and with no hesitation, she lifts the cover. 

The quiet is deafening as Shiro stares from it, to his brother, around to Keith, and back to the box. 

Keith quietly turns off the stove. 

Shiro slowly pulls out a chair and sits. 

“It's an arm,” he says. his voice is distant. Shocked. Pidge grins and pulls it out with a flourish. It's made out of some kind of white metal, an altean alloy that keith can't even begin to separate, and the panels seem to flex almost like its not even metal at all. 

“The Olkari were a great help with it, actually,” she says. She rounds the table and holds it next to Shiro's flesh arm, judging the size. There isn't much of a difference Keith can see but Pidge's head tilts and her eyes narrow. 

“Initially, I was going to attach it directly to your nerves to give you as much maneuverability as I could. But it occurred to me that youre also missing part of the joint here too.” She pokes at Shiro's other shoulder where the scarring hides under his shirt. “Much of the needed anchorage is gone. So I went to Allura and Lotor and they told me about the Olkari and how they have entire mechanisms they can control with their minds! With nothing more than a sensor!” She taps her temple as she returns to the box, setting the arm on the table.

“So I made this!” 

‘This’, doesn't look like much of anything at all. if Pidge didn't point it out, Keith would just assume it's just a piece of scrap metal that was forgotten in the box. She holds the square between her fingers, barely bigger than a fingernail, and launches into her explanation. 

“I call this the Surface Host Integral Frequency Transfer. SHIFT for short. The SHIFT goes on the back of your neck, right at the top of your spine, and it can read the signals in your nervous system to copy the movements into the arm. Brilliant, right!”

“You made me an arm.” 

Pidge blinks, finally noticing how Shiro sits dazed. She quiets, and sets the SHIFT on the table. “It was Keith's idea,” she admits with a shrug. “And I thought, since you saved the continent, you really deserved it.”

“Keith?” Shiro frowns and he finally tears his eyes away from the arm. There's a question there but he hesitates like he doesn't know how to ask it. Keith isn't even sure if he knows how to answer it. “Why?” Shiro settles on, quiet yet somehow loud over the dull roar of the rain against the windows. 

Keith shrugs. “Because it's you,” he says. “because you're worth it. Because-” He crosses his arms and his shoulders hunch. he feels much like the scrap of a kid shiro found on the side of the road ten years ago again, afraid of any misstep. He doesn't want shiro to back away from this. “Because you gave so much to the war and with this, I- We can give you back what you lost.”

‘I can give back what I couldn't save.’

Shiro nods, but the look he gives Keith is significant. Later, it says, and Keith nods in return. “Did you know about it?” he asks Ryou, and Ryou grins. 

“How do you think they got the measurements?” he flexes his arm and Shiro groans. He turns back, focused on the arm once again and Keith can see the line of tension has eased in his shoulders. Pidge picks the arm up, abandoning the towel that Matt had draped over her hair. 

“I made a brace for it,” she tells him as she hauls it out of the box too. “To mask where it’ll join with your shoulder. There might need to be some adjustments but it should work okay.” 

“I tested it!” Matt raises his hand, letting his own towel drape over his neck. “The response times are good, and the SHIFT itself doesn't feel too obtrusive, but we’re working on making it better.”

“We just wanted to get this to you as fast as possible.” It's impossible for Pidge to hide her excitement as she gestures for Shiro to turn. 

“If the arm gets the signals from the SHIFT, would I be able to control it even if its not attached?” Shiro obeys, tugging off his shirt when Pidge plucks at the collar.

“It's not going to fly across the room, if that's what you're asking.” Pidge's response is dry as she arranges the arm and the sleeve together. Keith tries not to let Ryou snort get to him. “At most, you'll be able to make it crawl across the floor.”

“A fun new party trick for new years!” Matt chimes in, coming around Shiro's other side with the SHIFT. “Head forward.”

Shiro ducks his chin and Matt first rubs something across the back of his neck before he sets the SHIFT against his skin. There's a pause before Shiro grunts, jerking in the chair and Matt hisses a short, “Sorry.”

“Just a slight sting, I forgot to mention.” Pidge holds the straps of the brace out as Shiro straightens.

“Appreciate the warning,” he wheezes. He rubs the back of his neck and Keith moves around so he can see where the square is pressed into his skin. He frowns as Shiro lets Pidge loop the straps over his head and around his chest. Already the arm is responding, fingers twitching and wrist flexing as Shiro shifts. A light, bright aqua blue, flickers on the SHIFT, almost solid with the frequency.

The skin around the square is red, irritated from where the corners have anchored to him, but there's no blood. It's like a piercing but it only sits on the surface. He just hopes Shiro doesn't end up having a larger reaction. 

“How does it feel?” he asks, just as Pidge and Matt step away. Shiro hums, rolling his head between his shoulders. 

“It’s strange.” The new arm twitches, like it's going to lift off the table but the command aborts. Instead, his left hand rises and strokes down the back of his neck to the SHIFT. “It doesn't feel like I have my arm again but it doesn't feel like I don't either. It's almost like…” He turns towards them, holding his arm up in front of him as he flexes the fingers. “You know that feeling you get? when you’ve slept on your arm for too long and it's in that in between state where you can sort of feel something but the pins and needles haven't started yet.”

It looks awkward the way Shiro is holding it, the shoulder as far forward as he can make it with a slight bend in the elbow. But if that's what Shiro's feeling, then Keith doesn't blame him. Pidge takes it by the wrist and starts moving it, holding Shiro steady by the shoulder as she tests the range of motion.

“Give it some time,” Pidge advises. “Practice with it. We’ll see if we can't do anything about the feedback.”

“Yeah,” Matt nods. “I didn't notice anything when I tested it but I'm also not missing a limb.” 

“Is there a way to take the SHIFT off?” Ryou asks. They watch as Pidge gets Shiro to move the arm around on his own. 

“Press on the centre until it clicks and the corners will lift,” Matt tells them. “Just keep it on for a couple weeks before you do that so the skin can heal around it.”

“Heal?”

“It's a piercing, essentially. Take it off too soon and it's going to hurt again the next time you put it on.”

“Right.” Ryou nods then claps his hands together. “What do you guys want for dinner?”

The change is drastic once Shiro gets used to the arm. A shadow in his eyes, one that Keith didn't even know was there, lifted and Keith knew he made the right decision. Their spars are more even, weapons or no, and he holds himself higher. Less defeated, Keith realizes. 

The biggest difference, though, is one that Keith is struggling to find a reason for. Shiro, always open with him, always genuine, seems to have gotten shyer. He doesn't look at Keith straight on anymore, staring off to the side or whatever it is he happens to be doing with his hands. He doesn't spend any less time with Keith, probably more, if he really thinks about it, but he hides.

Thats, really, the only way Keith can put it. 

There's a fan that he remembers seeing in Shiro's grandparent’s livingroom that he seems to have gotten attached to. It’s a standard size for a hand fan, barely a foot long with a gentle gradient from blue to white on its fabric. The pattern is near invisible, some kind of paisley that shifts with the light, and the wood is well worn, the engraved vines soft.

Shiro has taken to carrying it everywhere. 

At first, Keith thinks he misses them. Its logical. It's been a year or thereabouts since Keith was told about their deaths but there doesn't seem to be any other intentions when Shiro brings it out. There's no moments of distraction, no mourning in his eyes aside from the actually anniversary. And even after, the fan stays, fluttering in front of Shiro's face. 

Most days, it feels like Shiro is teasing him. The hidden smiles and shy glances over the top don't help. The trees have turned entirely when Keith admits to himself that Shiro just… Likes fans now. It's an odd thought, not something he pictured Shiro liking but it does, admittedly, looks nice. And cute but he’ll be damned if he admits that to anyone other than Kosmo. 

It’s because he’s thinking about how cute Shiro is behind the fan that he stops while he’s travelling. There's a stand absolutely covered in fans, some more intricate than others and not something he expected from the tiny village he happened to be passing through. 

They’re clearly handcrafted, tiny imperfections popping up the closer he looks. Looking behind it, he can see a workshop through the beads covering the doorway. He steps closer.

His mother can wait.

There's one that catches his attention, larger than Shiro’s grandmothers but sleeker somehow. Simpler. A white lion lopes across the folds mid roar, stark against the silver-grey satin. The paint shimmers like gilded silver in the sun and draws Keith closer. 

It's not paint, he realizes, but thread, the stitches so small the lion appears to be running through snow or stars. There's a single speck of blue for its eye, the only splash of colour on the entire thing. He looks at the shopkeep that’s been watching him and motions to the fan. 

“How much?”

The fan leaves with him, the weight of its box comforting in his bag. He doesn't even remember how much he paid. Krolia is amused when he admits as much to her but he puts up with it as she braids his hair. 

“He’ll love it,” she says, releasing the tie with a snap. 

“I hope so,” he sighs, leaning into his mother’s warmth as she loops the braid over his shoulder. “He hasn’t reacted to anything else I’ve done yet.”

“Give it time.” She presses a kiss to the top of his head and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a hug. “Humans can be dense. Sometimes all you need is to tell it to them directly.”

“Is that what you did with Dad?”

“Eventually.” Her voice is lilting, a story hidden behind the word, and Keith groans. “It’s probably the easiest thing you can do at this point, but.” She gets up and goes to the shelf across the room, grabbing a book from near the top. “If you really want to make a statement, I suggest this.” 

“Sky whales?” Keith reads as he takes it from her. Krolia hums. 

“Their teeth are sacred to the Galra,” she tells him. “We call them kinte and gifting one to someone, usually crafted as a pendant, is considered an act of engagement.”

“Engagement.” He looks at her, eyes wide and he nearly drops the book. Krolia’s looks becomes softer and Keith can’t stop the heat that rises in his face. 

“You love him, don’t you?” 

“I don’t- Yes? But isn’t it a bit soon for that?”

Krolia sighs and crouches down in front of him. She covers his hands, holding the book with him. “I think,” she says softly, “that you have loved him for a very long time. But loving someone during a war is very different from loving someone in peace. Plus, I don’t think you could have saved him if you didn’t love him in the first place.”

“But, Allura–”

“Was only the conduit. It’s your hand that guided Shiro back.” Keith takes a breath, goes to speak, but nothing comes out. The words are gone and all he can think about is that he loves Shiro. 

He  _ loves _ Shiro.

“I love him.” He can barely hear himself. Krolia reaches up, hooking her hand around the back of his neck and bringing him down to her shoulder. Her fingers run over the thin braids on the side of his head. His eyes are burning. “I love him.”

He gets back to Izumi amid heavy snow. It’s the first of the season and Keith is glad that Kosmo runs so warm beneath his fur. Already, there are children playing, bundled to their noses as the beginnings of snowmen are rolled together. 

Shiro is outside when Keith trots up and he grins when he spots the two of them. He waves a large gloved hand and is entirely unprepared when a snowball is launched at the side of his head. Ryou crows from the corner of the house. 

“No distractions!” He calls and just like that, Shiro is drawn back in. Keith slides off Kosmo’s back with a laugh. 

He loves him.

“Go bring him inside.” He pats Kosmo on the shoulder and the wolf launches forward with a bark. He flashes through the air, appearing behind Shiro to knock him into the snow. Shiro shouts, the sound nearly covered by Ryou’s howl of laughter before the two of them disappear altogether. 

“Keith!” The call is a near whine that Keith waves at as he climbs the porch. 

“Don’t wait up,” he says to Ryou’s groan and steps inside.

“-snow all over the couch!” 

Kosmo lets out a wavering groan, entirely disinterested in anything Shiro has to say as he rolls onto his back. His head presses against one arm while his tail drapes over the other to sweep across the floor. Snow that had been caught in his fur melts into the cushions as Shiro gestures helplessly. 

“I think you’ve lost this battle.” Keith makes no effort to hide his grin and Shiro sighs as he turns. He tugs his hat off and throws it on the coffee table, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Not even back for a minute and already wreaking havoc.” 

“Always.” Keith reaches out and Shiro takes his hand, bringing him close for a hug. Its warm, even if Shiro is covered in snow, and Keith melts into it. Shiro leans his head against Keith’s, a gentle press that has him holding Shiro closer. 

“This is good,” Shiro murmurs into his hair and Keith hums in agreement. “I’m glad that I can hold you with two arms now.” 

“I'm glad thats your take away.” Keith sniggers into Shiro’s shoulder. “Anyway, I have a gift for you.” 

“A gift?” Shiro pulls away then, flesh hand lingering on Keiths shoulder as he tugs his bag forward. “It’s not my birthday yet?”

“Not for your birthday.” Keith draws the box out, holding it up for Shiro to take. The confusion that creases his brow deepens and Shiro takes it slowly. He knows what it is, Keith is sure. His grandmother had more than just the one that Shiro had taken a shine to and fan cases are pretty distinctive.

But the initial reaction isn’t at all what he expected and apprehension lodges itself in his chest. 

“A fan,” Shiro murmurs, more to himself rather than Keith, it looks like as he opens it. The quality is apparent just from the polished shine of the black stone panels. The gasp when he spreads it is genuine, though, and hearing it is enough for the relief to rush through him. 

“Keith.” 

Keith ducks his head as Shiro looks at him. “I just figured you should have one of your own,” he says. “Your grandmother’s is nice but… It’s not yours.” He finishes with a shrug and Shiro laughs, soft and easy. He holds the fan up, looking over it with laughter creasing the corners of his eyes. 

“You noticed.” The colours are nice against his skin, matching the shine of his hair and accentuating his eyes. 

“It was the centrepiece of the mantle, of course I noticed.” Keith bumps his elbow, knocking the fan out of place. Shiro closes it with a snap and a bark of laughter.

“Thank you,” he says, tapping the end of the fan against his chin. “I’ll cherish it always.”

It’s late when Kosmo teleports them into the front room. Keith drops everything in the centre of the room with a weary sigh and Kosmo noses at his ear, huffing his hair out of place.

“What am I gonna do?” He reaches up, scratching under Kosmo’s chin. “Was Lance right? Am I coming on too strong?” Kosmo gives him a deadpan look then turns away, dropping in his bed by the door with a groan. Keith sighs again. “Thanks Kosmo.”

He gathers his things, kicking his boots towards the door and draping his coat over a kitchen chair as he passes it. His bag comes with him and he digs the sky whale book out as he enters his room. The bag gets set on his desk. 

He’s going to get one of these teeth. 

He turns on the lamp next to his bed and sets himself up to read before he sleeps, but he doesn’t get passed the first page before he’s interrupted. There’s tapping on his window and one glance has him leaping out of bed.

“Shiro?” He tosses the book aside and throws the window open. “What are you doing? I just left!”

“I missed you,” he grins, unashamed, and Keith groans.

“You can’t just–” He rubs his hands over his face and tries to will the blush away. His ears still burn when he peeks at Shiro through his fingers and the man’s grin only gets wider. Is this his answer? He really hopes this method isn’t his answer. “Shiro, why are you here? We’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I wanted to talk more,” he says just as a burst of wind cuts through and Keith backs away with a vicious shiver. 

“And you couldn’t knock on the door?” he asks but doesn’t wait for a reply as he shakes his head. “Go home, Shiro.” He says and clamps down on the leap his heart makes when Shiro pouts. “there’s no need for this, we can talk in the morning. I don’t have another mission lined up for a while.”

Shiro looks at him, takes a breath like he’s going to object but decides against it. “Okay,” he says instead and pushes away from the window. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as soft as it does but he can’t be mad when it makes Shiro smile. He waves and Shiro waves back but it doesn’t lift the dejected slump to his shoulders as he walks away. Keith sighs and shuts the window. “So much for reading.”

But he tries. He gathers the book from the floor and props himself back up in bed, but the words don’t stick and he finds himself staring at the picture example of a sky whale than actually reading. He can’t get the image of Shiro’s back out of his head. 

The guilt sits heavy on his chest. 

It lingers into the next day and he tries to hide it, but not very well apparently. Shiro keeps looking at him as they spend the day out, his frown getting more pronounced until he pulls Keith aside along the boardwalk. 

“Keith,” he starts but doesn’t get much further than that. Keith can’t hold it in anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in a rush of breath. Shiro blinks, the concern shifting into surprise. “Last night, I made you–” he waves his hand and Shiro laughs.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I get it. No hard feelings.” 

“Good.” Keith lets out a breath of relief. It’s not much, but Shiro seems happier as the day goes on. 

One thing he doesn’t count on is Shiro coming back but he probanly should have. It’s not immediately after they separate that Shiro appears but it’s still late. Thankfully, it’s not as cold as it was the night before and the eager light in Shiro’s eye keeps Keith from turning him away. It’s not the worst thing in the world, even though they should be sleeping.

But it happens again. 

And again.

For a week, Shiro appears at his window as the Autumn temperatures return and the snow melts. It’s actually deeply concerning that Shiro’s been refusing to sleep at a proper time. They went through war, he should know that sleep is important no matter what’s happening. 

But Shiro still shows up.

He’s already in bed, lights off and plans finalized to get himself a kinte. The tap is light, almost hesitant, but it draws Keith out of his half asleep state anyway. Shiro is a shadow behind the glass and Keith muffles his groan into his pillow. Every part of him longs for him to go back as he gets up.

“Get inside,” he hisses as soon as the window opens. He expects Shiro to go for the door. He clamors through the window instead, giddy excitement in his eyes that Keith is too tired to address. 

He has places to go in the morning. 

“I’m sleeping,” he says, already climbing under his covers. “Sleep with me if you’re not going to stay in your own bed.” He doesn’t expect Shiro to join him as eagerly as he does. He slides in close, warm against his side and not shy in the least as he makes himself comfortable. 

“Hi,” he whispers, eyes dancing in the moonlight. Keith laughs but disguises it as a scoff, not that it fools Shiro any. He smacks his hand against Shiro’s chest and immediately regrets it. His face burns as he turns away and he’s glad it’s dark. 

“Sleep,” he demands.

“Okay,” Shiro murmurs, and it’s the last thing he remembers as the week catches up with him.

He wakes up warm, limbs heavy and thoughts slow. He takes a breath and it’s filled with Shiro. Another breath and his thoughts start to gather. Shiro’s holding him, he realizes, and he’s not much better. They’re tangled together, chest to chest, and Keith can feel every soft breath that fans over his hair. 

He should get up. The sooner he leaves, the sooner he gets back. But he presses closer, embracing the warmth that’s filled his chest, making his heart light. faced with the dim light of pre-dawn and the comforting weight of Shiro’s arms, Keith falls back asleep. 

He wakes again when Shiro does and this time, the sun is high. He should be on the road already but he can’t help but luxuriate. Shiro’s arms tighten around his waist, drawing him impossibly closer and his nose presses cold to Keith’s neck. Keith squirms to Shiro’s waking groan.

“I have a mission,” he says and the groan takes on a distinctive whining pitch. Keith smiles, helpless to it and his heart light. “I’ll be quick,” he promises, rubbing a hand along Shiro’s back. Shiro releases him, but it’s slow. Lingering. 

A hand skims up Keith’s back, a spark against his skin as his sleep shirt is drawn up with it. The other threads into his hair, fingertips massaging into his scalp. It’s electrifying but Keith fights the urge to press closer just to get more of it. 

He rolls back and out of bed, already reaching for his uniform set aside. Shiro’s gaze burns the back of his head as he dresses and when he turns around, his eyes are dark. They’re heavy with intent but Shiro clutches at the pillow he left behind instead. The heat is instant, rising up to his ears as his heart skips, but Keith refuses to give in now.

“I’ll miss you,” Shiro says, voice low and rough with sleep. The heat in his face tempers, settling to a gentle warmth that fills the rest of him. He has no idea what his face is doing but Shiro smiles back, sweet and solidifying everything Keith is about to do.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

The best thing about having a teleporting wolf is that it doesn’t take nearly as long to get to places as it would otherwise. The mountains of Oriande, where sky whales are found year round, are weeks away from Izumi in the northern reaches of Altea. Kosmo gets them there in half the time. 

Finding the whales is no issue. They float between the peaks, massive creatures that part the clouds with their mass. The problem comes in having to scale them and  _ then _ get one of their teeth from their mouths. He waits an entire day for one to pass close enough with no luck. 

“Without cheating,” he tells Kosmo when he whines and groans and flashes circles around him on the second day. He points to another peak across the valley. “Take me over there.” There’s a pod drifting close, closer than they have been since they arrived. 

Kosmo wuffs and shakes but obeys. 

Keith hits the ground running, knife in hand. The angle is steep but the whales have never been this close and he doesn't want to miss this chance. Seeing them from a distance does nothing to portray their actual size. They block out the sun, setting the chill of the air on Keith. His breath shakes in his chest but he can’t stop. A few more feet and the fin will be close enough for him to reach.

A few more feet and he’ll have the tooth to make Shiro’s kinte. 

A few more feet and-

The ground shifts, loose rocks crumbling away to nothing. Air rushes around him and Keith can do nothing but gasp. The sun flashes in his eyes, blinding. His knife slips from his fingers. Kosmo’s barks echo across the valley. 

He’s going to die. 

Then he chokes, the neck of his uniform tightening around his throat and he stops abruptly against the side of the mountain. He blinks the stars out of his eyes as he catches his breath between coughs. The heart pounding relief is only barely better than the rush of fear. He watches in a daze as the whales drift away, their low crooning song mixing with Kosmo’s barking. 

Another few coughing breaths and the confusion sets in. He’s being tugged slowly up but if Kosmo’s barking, then there’s something else on this mountain. He looks up into white.

White fur, white teeth, but it’s the blue eyes that stare into his soul that makes his breath stick in his throat for another round of coughs. Never in his wildest dreams did he think the lion embroidered into Shiro’s fan would be real.

The lion drags him back to solid ground and Keith shivers and shakes as the reality of what just happened sets in. Kosmo presses close, nose cold where it digs into his neck and cheek, but Keith suffers it willingly. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Barely, but he’s okay. He buries his fingers in Kosmo’s mane for one more moment, bracing, before letting go. “I lost my knife,” he says as Kosmo whines in his ears. “Can you get it?” Another whine but Kosmo bounds away, leaping over the edge with a flash. Keith gives himself another moment to gather himself before he faces the lion. 

They sit, watching him with steady eyes. The soul watching quality hasn’t left. 

“Thank you,” he says, breathless. The lion nods then closes its eyes. The sun shines brighter on its fur, almost blinding, then Keith abruptly realizes it’s not the sun. The lion glows, hiding everything behind light before it starts to shrink. It drops, down and down, to the size of a house cat before the light fades away. 

And it is a cat that sits in front of him now, long fur as white as the snow that covers Oriande’s peaks. It watches him, gaze just as heavy as before. Keith sits fully on the ground. “Oh.”

The lion-cat follows them. 

Keith makes the executive decision to take the rest of the day off and try again in the morning. Kosmo comes back, knife secured, then brings him to where they’ve set up camp. The lion-cat shows up an hour later, laying primly at the corner of his tent as they eat dinner. 

It stays cat sized.

It follows them the next day, too, lingering a few meters away as they go back to chasing whales. 

Keith is careful this time. He stops well before the cliff edge, cursing each time a while drifts just out of reach. He’s not eager for a repeat of the day before. 

The break comes at sundown, the sky a haze of pinks and purples through the drifting snow in the west. It’s a young whale he manages to hook, clinging to its tail just as it begins to lift and Kosmo howls down below. After that, getting the tooth is considerably easy. The hide is thick and using his knife as an anchor doesn’t even make it bleed. 

Getting to the teeth is a problem that’s solved pretty quickly. He gets to the mouth right as it opens for a go at a whole flock of birds. The smell is disgusting but he lifts the face mask from around his neck and gets to work. He has to avoid getting swallowed but he also has more to work with than the unfortunate birds that join him inside. 

Some of the teeth he finds are as long as his arm, adult teeth that does him no good. He needs the loose teeth that young whales have, smaller ones that are easier to file down and shape. He finds one that’s just a bit longer than his hand and gives it a shove. It shifts under the force and Keith grins. 

Perfect. 

He gets his treasure and escapes, whistling for Kosmo when he reaches the top of the whale’s head. The thrill is high when they appear back on the ground and Keith doesn’t hold back the excitement as he shows Kosmo the tooth. 

“This is it!” He holds it out, shaking it for emphasis. “I’m going to ask when I give him this,” he says, taking Kosmo’s furry face between his hands as he speaks. “I’m going to ask, and if I’ve been reading the last week right, he’s going to say yes.” Kosmo whines in his hold. Keith grins wider.

“Let’s go home.”

It only occurs to him later that the entire mountain range is probably riddled with fallen teeth he could’ve collected. 

The lion-cat follows them home too. Keith realizes it when they’ve crossed to the otherside of Altea City and spots it, once again lounging next to the tent one morning. It looks at him with squinted eyes and Keith leaves it be.

One thing he doesn’t expect when he gets home is for Shiro to not be there. He stops at the Shirogane house like he usually does but Ryou’s the only one there. He smiles at Keith and brightly tells him that Shiro’s going to be gone for a while. When Keith presses, he’s just told not to worry.

He goes home and messages everyone. Even the Blade.

His mother is unsurprised, if her ‘Oh, really? That’s interesting.’ is anything to go by. The others either don’t answer or refuse to tell him where Shiro went. It’s maddening and he wishes questioning them through the messages was as effective as asking them personally. But he’s being told to wait, so he waits.

And waits. 

The lion-cat makes itself at home on Keith’s deck and Keith can only accept it. He tries to offer food, but the cat turns their nose. When it disappears for a few hours a day, he assumes it’s hunting. But the cat is only a small distraction.

He spends the rest of the time putting the kinte together. 

He collects stones and shells from the beach, small and unassuming, black and grey and white. He gets a chain and wire from one of the jewellers downtown to put it all together. It’s tedious, polishing everything and boring holes for the wire. He talks through his process to make it seem less mind numbing even if his audience is usually only animals. 

Ryou watches him between work, curious enough in what Keith’s doing to ask questions. 

“Where did you get it?” He asks the first time he’s over and Keith’s working on it.

“The sky whales in Oriande.” Keith answers and Ryou hums then falls quiet. His attention is steady as Keith works, listening until he finishes for the day. They clear the floor and spar then, and Keith doesn’t think anymore of it.

“What is it?” Ryou asks on another day. Keith is linking together the stones and shells, arranging them from smallest to largest, darkest to lightest, towards the centre. 

“With this,” he holds up the tooth, “it’s called a kinte. They’re sacred to the galra.”

“So you decided to make yourself one?” Keith hums noncommittally and Ryou doesn’t press. The day ends with dinner, having sparred earlier, and Keith doesn’t think anymore of that either. 

“It’s pretty,” Ryou comments, a week and a half after Keith came home and a week and a half of Shiro not being there. Keith is getting antsy and he tries not to let it show but with the tussle Ryou drew him into when he arrived, Keith doesn’t think he’s succeeding. 

He yanks on a wire and freezes when the shell it’s holding snaps in half.

“Oh.” Ryou’s voice is distant. Keith stares at the bits of shell in his palm. 

“Is it worth it?” he asks but it’s not until Ryou answers that he realizes it came out of his mouth. 

“Is what worth it?”

Keith puts the shell aside, gently shaking the wire out of the mess. “Making this,” he says as he straightens it out.

“Well, what’s it for?” Ryou looks at him, a hook to his lips and a quirk to his brow like he knows but is just playing along. It’s so much like Shiro but not. Aside from the tone, the tilt of his head and the set of his jaw sets him aside. Makes him Ryou. 

Even still, Keith’s heart skips. 

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry as he looks away. “Shiro,” he says. “I wanted–” He can feel the heat burning in his ears. “Do you think he’ll like it?” Ryou doesn’t answer right away and Keith rubs his thumb along the edge of a shell to ease the tension. It’s not a bad pause, he knows. There’s no breath, no shift, just Ryou watching him.

Finally, he laughs, low but delighted. “I think he’ll love it.”

For all that he fretted about Shiro being gone, Keith doesn’t expect to see him walking up the path in light snowfall the next day. His kinte’s not done but Shiro is here and Keith needs to hide it. He drops it into the box he’s been keeping it and gives it to Kosmo. “My room,” he hisses with a shove before rushing to the door.

Shiro grins at him, cheeks flushed and hair windswept, and currently the best thing he's seen. “Keith!” He greets as Keith all but leaps down the steps. “How does it feel to be the one waiting?” he teases. The hug is easy, natural. Keith takes in as much of Shiro’s scent as he can. 

“I don’t like it,” he says into Shiro’s coat. Shiro’s laugh shakes them both and Keith is warm all over. “Where did you go?”

“In a second.” He pulls away, taking a step back even, and Keith doesn’t even try to hide the disappointment. “I need you to close your eyes.” He looks eager, eyes wide and seconds away from dancing on the spot. It’s the only reason Keith does as he’s told. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

There’s a breath, a shift. The buckles of Shiro’s bag click, then there’s something sliding over his head to settle around his neck. His eyes open without prompting.

A necklace greets him, polished white stones knotted with soft black-dyed rope and a sky whale tooth at its centre. Its surface shines in the sun, smooth as glass under his fingers. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear lands on the back of his hand.

“Keith?” Shiro’s eyes are wider, anxious. His hands hover but they don’t land so Keith reaches up for him and brings him in for a kiss. The response is immediate and Keith could sob with the relief. Maybe he does. But Shiro’s arms are warm around him, hands broad across the back of his neck and around his waist and Keith is the happiest he’s ever been.

“Marry me,” he gasps between kisses. Begs. “Marry me, please.” He thinks it might be backwards, that Shiro is supposed to ask first, but it doesn’t matter when Shiro gasps and nods. 

“Yes. yes,  _ yes,” _ he chants as he kisses across Keith’s cheek into his hair.  _ “Yes, _ Keith, I love you.”

They only separate when Ryou whoops from the street.


	3. Chapter 3

The news travels fast.

Keith drags Shiro into his house, giddy excitement fueling every kiss, every touch. Keith is gorgeous, ethereal, and Shiro takes every look, sound, and touch he gives with eager acceptance. They don’t leave until the next morning. 

By then, Krolia is there, waiting on the front deck with Kosmo’s head in her lap. The look she sends them, once Keith notices her through the window, is knowing and Keith’s ears once again turn a delightful shade of red. Shiro doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. 

“Hi, mom,” he greets, quiet, and Krolia stands, pulling Keith in for a hug. He goes willingly, sinking into her hold with an ease that Shiro knows is hard won. It’s a good feeling, to see how far he’s come from when they met. From a boy scared to show, scared to be, to a man that lives and loves. 

Shiro loves him. 

A sound distracts him, the soft meow of a cat, and it’s the only warning he has before a mass of white fur launches to his shoulders. He hunches over, quickly finding his balance as the cat rubs against the side of his head and gives him a face full of fur. Its purr is loud, rumbling in his ear and vibrating in his bones.

“Oh.” Shiro looks over and Keith is watching, surprised and amused. “It followed me home,” he says, “but it’s never really been that friendly with me.” 

“No name?” 

Keith shrugs and shakes his head. “It’s kind of a special cat actually. When it found me, it was a lion, but then it shrank down to that. Didn’t feel right to just name it something when it might already have one.”

Shiro considers it with a soft hum. A magic cat that turns into a lion. Or a magic lion that turns into a cat. Either way, it sounds familiar.

“Anyway, I’m here to borrow Shiro,” Krolia says, and the nerves form an instant ball in the pit of his stomach.

“Mom,” Keith protests but Krolia calms him with a hand through his hair. 

“It’ll only be for a bit and I’ll return him in one piece, I promise.” Keith sighs but the promise doesn’t make Shiro feel any better. It’s one thing to talk to your crushes mom during a war. It’s entirely something else to talk to her when they just got engaged.

“It’ll be okay.” He puts as much confidence as possible in his voice but it doesn’t look like Keith believes him any. He smiles, trying for easy nonchalance, but Keith only snorts out a laugh. He takes the cat from Shiro’s shoulders. 

“Go on,” he says. “I have some things to finish up anyway. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

Krolia takes him away for breakfast then drops him back home afterwards. Despite being anxious to all hell, Shiro feels better about it. She told him about her life. About the Blades and how she found her husband. How Keith came to be. She loves her son and she didn’t need to tell him for Shiro to know.

Keith saved him, he knows. That he has his life because Keith loves him and that’s how their magic works. It’s a staggering thought, but it settles something in Shiro. He wants to make sure Keith never has to do it again. 

He sends a message to the others, a short one until he gets the rest of his thoughts together and he’s spoken with Keith more.

‘Keith and I are getting married.’

There’s a meow from outside, long and beckoning and Shiro goes only because he’s never heard it before. He finds Keith’s cat on his doorstep, looking up at him with wide blue eyes and a purr that he can almost feel in his ears. 

He’s not sure how it managed to follow him home.

He picks it up and it settles in his arms, rubbing its head against his arm and chest, and against his other hand when he goes to pet it. “Does Keith know you’re here?” he asks. It’s a pointless question, the answer being, ‘probably not,’ but talking to the cat like it can talk back is reflex.

Maybe it’s the eyes.

“You really like me, huh?” He shuts the door against the cold, winter finally kicking into full swing. The cat’s purr racks up a notch. He should really bring it back to Keith’s he knows. It’s not his cat. But he’s sure Keith won’t blame him if he spends some time with it. 

Him? Her?

“Are you a boy or a girl?” he asks as he settles on the couch. The cat doesn’t respond and Shiro doesn’t dislodge it to check. It curls on his chest, claws kneading his shirt, and Shiro relaxes. He’s asleep before he knows it. 

Keith is there when he stirs, a handsome surprise that his heart warming. He’s staring at the cat, crouched next to the couch, but he notices Shiro quickly. He smiles, gentle, soft, beautiful.

“Sorry about the cat,” Shiro says, still groggy and he wipes the sleep out of his eyes. Keith shakes his head. 

“Keep it,” he says. “It’s clearly yours anyway.” Shiro frowns. The cat paws at his hand and he lifts it automatically, combing through its fur and petting down it’s back. Keith’s look is dry.

“Anyway.” He stands as Shiro sits up and the cat, while disgruntled, settles on his legs. “I wanted to give you something.”

“Oh?” Shiro looks at him but Keith isn’t immediately forthcoming. 

He shakes his head, smile fond. “Close your eyes.” Shiro does, no question, no hesitation. He thinks about the kinte he gave Keith yesterday, entertains the thought of Keith giving him something similar. It’s wishful thinking, something that only happens in stories, but Shiro is a soft heart that way. 

But something slips over his head, heavy on his neck. He opens his eyes but he doesn’t look, staring into Keith’s eyes as they get fonder, his smile gets wider. He reaches up to feel for the tooth. 

“Keith.” Keith bends, and when they kiss, it feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest. It’s slow and heavy but somehow stronger than the frantic energy that consumed them before. 

“I love you,” Keith says against his lips. 

“Marry me.” They’ve already gone through this but Keith kisses him again and again. 

“Yes,” he says, barely parting to speak before diving back in. “Always.”

They get married in the spring along the pier. The townspeople organize it for them, taking their opinions on colours and flowers and traditions, and transforming them into an event that’s probably going to go down in history. 

Keith is warm along his front as they stand at the end of the dock, eyes like stars in the setting sun. His braid is loose, knocked free from the twist it had started in during one of their dances, and Shiro twists the end around his fingers. 

“You’re my husband,” he murmurs into Shiro’s neck. The wonder is echoed in his heart and Shiro hums, resting his cheek against Keith’s hair. A cheer rises from the party behind them.

“My husband.” He says back. A moment passes. Two, and Keith snorts, shoulders shaking with laughter. Between them, their kinte are solid against their chests. Luxite pulses gently, inlaid into the ivory by Hira in a gift neither of them saw coming. 

“I love you.” Shiro kisses the side of Keith’s head. Keith gives him one last squeeze before stepping back. His smile is bright but there’s a mischievous curl that has Shiro on edge. 

“Let’s go.” He takes Shiro’s hand and starts drawing him back. “I have some things to show you about Galra weddings.” Shiro looks ahead to where Krolia is waiting. She changed while they were distracted, her clothes far more suited for activity than before, and Shiro gets nervous. There’s a bundle in her hands that look like more clothes. 

“Do I need to be worried?” he asks. Keith’s grin gets wider.

“We’re a warrior race, what does that tell you?”

“Yes. It tells me, yes.” Keith’s only response it to laugh before he pushes Shiro towards his mother and Shiro dispairs. 


End file.
